Call of Pony: Equestrian Warfare
by TheOnyxDragon12
Summary: "Look, if you had one shot, or one opportunity, To seize everything you ever wanted in one moment, Would you capture it or just let it slip?" -Eminem. Desert Storm was given one shot. He made decisions. He made bodies. He made scars and secrets, all because he was given a voice. Gideon was saved from evil. Logan was rescued from Hell. Ghost was revived. They were given a choice.
1. The Call

**(A/N: Bro-hoof to everyone and everypony! /)**

**I got the wonderful idea from late night writing/singing/gaming as well as the general concept of making works like Fallout: Equestria. {Incorporating ponies into other pop culture and creating a unique plot line etc.} So maybe it's okay. **

**One question though: Have you heard the call?**

**-The Onyx Dragon)**

* * *

"_Have you heard it, like a whisper? __Tickling yo__ur ear? __A faint tune, a whistle, calling far and near? __Our souls, our dreams, all that we've held dear. __Will be torched, razed, and scratched until we conquer fear._

_It is the greatest sacrifice, the noblest obligation. __A great duty, to fight; the past is our demonstration. __Warriors, take flight! Bear arms, and use patience. __We'd be doomed if all brawn was used in this war. __We need tacticians or we'd be knocked to the floor._

_How sweet the bells charm, sounding through the air! __How strange it must be, to feel your legs down there. __How bitter it mush taste, salty rust everywhere. __How eager some will be, to make haste without a care._

_The most eloquent silence, and most raucous laugh. __This way you may come. Do not dare to turn your back. __For only the wheat will hear, and never will the chaff. __Hear the Call of Duty, follow the Call of Duty, Sing the Call of Duty and you will never stray from your path!_

_They are screaming, silent whispers, haunting in your ears. A__ faint plea, a name given, followed by soft tears.__Comrade, my brother, why must you fall here!?__I will avenge you, I swear. Their blood I will smear._

_It demands the greatest price, and complete obligation. __My vendetta, my vice. I forsee elimination. W__arriors must bite. The Doctor's medication. __We're doomed if all good souls were lost in this war. __Please, gladiators, recall who we've remained for!_

_How violently the bell charms, silent in the air. __How remorseful you must be, to have shot him down right there. __How sweet it must taste, angel feathers everywhere. __How eager some will stay, those with heart and tender care._

_The most eloquent silence, and most raucous laugh.__This way you may come. Do not dare to turn your back.__For only the wheat will hear, and never will the chaff. He__ar the Call of Duty, follow the Call of Duty, Sing the Call of Duty and you will never stray from your path!"_

* * *

Gideon's POV

Time: 18:00 Hours, 2060

Location: New Eastern State Peninentary

I plummeted through the air. The ugly son of a bitch just tore me straight out of a fucking helicopter!

I tried to reach for my pistol before he could try to nibble at me like a Twix bar. The carnivorous animal twisted me in his grip, knocking the gun out of my hands and dove for my right arm as we landed on the ground. I rolled onto the concrete rooftop and pulled my shoulder out of his grip, earning scrapes across my forearms. Blood dotted on the ground, and then I realized that the zombie had torn the iron bar on my exo arm. Was I bit?!

* * *

Desert Storm's POV

Time: 8:00 P.M.

Location: Trottingham, Equestria

Do you hear it calling? Maybe. Maybe not. I won't knock you for it if you don't. Not all the lovely pony souls out there are built for war. Hay, not even mine was at the start.

I remember laying there in bed, asleep under my purple sheets. My sandy blonde mane was probably all messed up since I drool. A lot. And I snore really loud. But I heard it that night, under my sheets and over my obnoxiously loud snoring, I could hear the call. It blew into my tan ears, stirring them to life. They pricked up when I snapped my bright blue eyes open.

There are legends sung about it. Some say it's a deafening silence. Others call it the one true moment of clarity. I can remember it as clear as day, and I'm going to say right now that it is none of the above statements are true. The Call was a sound that had no sound, but echoed. It made me freeze perfectly still under my blankets. My mind was empty, and maybe kinda sorta numb.

Except for some little tidbit of wisdom like, "Yep. It was the Call, all right."

I smiled beneath the warm covers before kicking them off, and vaulting out of my window.

* * *

Ghost's POV

Time: 14:00 Hours, "Day 6"

Location: Russo-Georgian Border

Death. Death. Death. I had chuckled at death. I could laugh at Death right now. ...No I couldn't. Everything within five inches of the bullet wound below my lungs boiled in pain. It burned to breathe, so why the bloody hell would I laugh?

That and what kind of psycho finds the humor in Roach's dull, lifeless green eyes? In his limp body like a mere puppet on a string?

What kind of sick bastard finds the time to laugh and make merry while my pulse fades and I begin to wheeze? Which one of you danced fools stood and cheered when Makarov's tool dumped kerosene on our bodies? When he lit the match that lit our bodies? When I blacked out?

Well, you motherfuckers who laughed can suck my bollocks. See you in Hell.

* * *

Logan's POV

Time: 8:00 Hours, 2017

Location: Latin American Jungle

I immediately opened my eyes and assessed my surroundings, first looking up. Sunlight? Daytime. Bars. Cage bars? More than likely. Big, vibrant leaves. Ferns? No, banana trees. Mexico? Maybe.

Left. Plain, dirty concrete wall. Right had the same results.

Down? Tile floor with a drain. That's never a good sign. Then I realized that I was strapped into a chair. And there was a rather interesting syringe (a REALLY long needle &amp; translucent red fluid within the tube) in a tray on a table to my left.

I craned my neck and glanced behind me. Rorke, grinning. Oh shit.


	2. The Dream

**(A/N: There's nothing to say, really. Other than the fact that I plan for this fic to be awesome. Let's hope it turns out that way.**

**GHOST HAS NEXT POV SO PLEASE STICK AROUND FOR THAT, PLEASE.**

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**"I've always been told that I'm too small, I'm not big enough, I'm not fast enough, I don't have what it takes.**

**To be the best and stay there, sweat is necessary.**

**[...] I wanna live LOOONG after my records have fallen, long after my rings have tarnished.**

**And whatever you got to do, to make sure you chase your legacy every second of your life.**

**Will you be remembered, how would you be remembered, why wouldn't you fight for the greatest achievement ever?**

**Leave. Your. Mark."**

**-Ray Lewis, "Madden 13 Speech"**

* * *

We were in the throne room of the Canterlot palace. Celestia was regally sitting on her throne as I stood, pacing on the soft, lovely red carpet that stretched the entire hall.

It was sunset, the time when Celestia's reign ends and where mine begins. It was a time where we could talk personally before she went to rest in her chambers, like most of Equestria.

The sun sinking behind the stained glass panels was my hourglass. The longer the shadows became, the less time I had to admit this instinctive feeling to my sister.

"Is something wrong, Luna?" Celestia asked me suddenly. Her carnation eyes were exhausted as she sipped from a cup of her favorite orange herbal tea.

My ears stood. I bit my tongue. "Oh, its nothing, Celestia. My thoughts were traveling."

She nodded, seeing straight through my lie. She looked towards the Royal Guard Sentry to her right. "Progressing Blade, Longshot, may you close the doors and guard from the outside, please?"

The dark grey stallion nodded along with his white counterpart. "Yes, Princess."

The two guards, Earth ponies, used their strength to close the massive violet double doors with their bear hooves. It shut with a loud air of finality.

"Luna, I know something is bothering you," Celestia started, lifting herself off of the throne and striding over to me. "Has it something to do with the night? Or have you had any more dreams?"

Unlike other ponies, I did not dream on a nightly basis, but only in dire times of need. My first "vision" was when our parents disappeared...

Tia wrapped her wings protectively around me, like I was a mere foal again. I missed those days, but I did not appreciate the coddling at the moment.

I refused her embrace. "Equestria is safe, Tia."

She folded her wings to her side. "And what of the other worlds? What of the future, Luna? I know you see more in the darkness than I do in the light most days."

Her eyes were so sincere. How do you not crumble under that stare?

"One other world, during night," I finally started. "I saw it in my dreams. There was so much death, at the hands of a greedy man. A great disease swept through the enemy soldiers, killing them all."

As I talked, I could remember their tortured, strangled cries.

"Men?" Celestia inquired. "Like the beings Twilight described?"

I nodded and continued. "Another pair of men were burning in Tartarus, bleeding out. If they aren't saved in time, they will die."

I looked at Celestia desperately. She saw studying me. Did she see the two men whose lives were on the line?

"The last man is trapped in a place like the Everfree Forest, however the plants are more tropical like the sort you find in the Zebra nation," I described. "He is being tortured, and maybe injected with a type of poison."

I stopped, rubbing the hide around my horn. Recounting that dream made my head ache.

Celestia shook her head slowly. She always did that when she was contemplating. After a moment, she spoke.

"Luna, I have no clear idea what to do," Celestia admitted honestly. "You say their world is torn with war. Intervening may help them, but exposing our ponies to it... It is not wise."

"Why can't we intervene?" I challenged. She was always giving me this lecture of sorts, that I always became too involved with our subjects on an unprofessional level. "If we do nothing we will bring doom upon ourselves!"

"And we will not sit and do nothing, Luna," She countered peacefully. "We will protect our world. We will contain this chaos and war in theirs. As for intervening, these... Humans as Twilight calls them, have never seen ponies nor have the majority of the populus witnessed them."

"Except for Lyra, who is obsessed with them, " I muttered.

"The majority, as aforementioned," Celestia replied. "What is these humans declare war on us? What if our ponies refuse to help?"

"If they can accept Twilight, can't they accept everypony?" I retaliated. Surely these humans are good-natured, especially if they are kind enough to assist the youngest princess. "Celestia, I see your point, but find it heartless to not assist."

"As do I, Luna, but our first and foremost responsibility is to marekind and not the humans," She pointed out. "On another note, I find it heartless to expose our subjects to war. Do you still remember what it was like, growing up as a foal, Luna?"

How could I forget? Living my life under complete and utter chaos, nearly losing my mind, seeing good ponies reduced to begging dogs, the violence occurring everywhere... Is that what this war could bring into Equestria?

I nodded, staring at my hooves. "I understand, Celestia. The foals of this generation do not deserve the punishment of witnessing our childhood."

"I agree, Luna. No young colt or filly should suffer. However, we must remain constantly diligent of this other world," She concluded before adding, "From a distance."

I nodded obediently. "Do you want me to accompany you to your bedside, sister?"

"There is no need, Luna. I still have some strength left," she assured me. If only Celestia truly admitted how much raising the sun twice a day affected her energy...

I still gathered her cup of tea, and set it down on the small table next to her canopy bed, the mahogany table with a vase of lilies on it.

"Good night, Luna," Celestia bade me before sinking underneath her satin blankets.

"Good night Celestia," I whispered before silently shutting her door.

I walked through the tile hallways into the palace garden, observing the last few rays of orange sunlight slip beneath the horizon. The sky was red, then it faded to purple, and finally to an indigo blue before I summoned the moon. The most difficult part is lifting it high into the sky; the moon naturally rises up and then sinks back down during the night.

I sang a lullaby as I used my magic to pull it above the horizon, a gentle flowing tune. The trick is to work slowly at a pace, or the moon orbits too quickly around the earth and the body's energy reserves are wasted.

"It's time to go to bed," I finished in a cold sweat, feeling accomplished that the moon was properly rising.

I then did a quick sweep of the garden. No guards were tossing bits into the marble fountain, no night shift trimmers were attending to the topiaries or to the jasmine vines, and not even a barn owl was calling from one of the great oak trees nearby.

It was quiet, but not for long. Once I slipped into the dream realm, Limbo, again, the tortured screams continued.

Celestia was wrong, very wrong. These humans needed my help.


	3. The Cure

(A/N: Thanks for the reviews, follows &amp; favorites, guys. It helps. :D This chapter took a lot more research.

-The Onyx Dragon)

* * *

Ghost's POV

Post Mortem

Purgatory

White and black. White and black, contrasting everywhere. Ink black slithering in the corner of my eyes. It disappeared every time I tried to catch a glimpse. But all I can see is the harsh white.

A slow, gentle feeling pulled over my body. I flinched. The sudden sensation made my skin crawl. When it was gone, I felt bare. Self conscious. Like I was a teen, standing in the middle of the gymnasium floor wearing only my briefs. I tried to run my fingers over my flesh, but my entire body was numb.

Where was I? I had no idea. I felt extremely disoriented, like I was buried in an avalanche and I couldn't find the surface. Suddenly, deeper concern washed through my body. My blood froze. Where was Roach?!

"Roach!" I thought I had screamed his name, but nothing came out. I tried again. "Roach!"

"Sanderson?!" I was dreaming. There was no way I couldn't have shredded my vocal cords by now!

"...Gary?!" Bollocks! I'm not mute!

Why can't anyone hear me?!

It was long enough for the dust to settle before someone answered, "I can hear you."

The relief almost made me cry. I desperately tried to look around for the source of sound. Maybe Roach was okay. "Where are you?"

"Roach isn't okay."

My pulse raced. I had to be visibly shaking. How did they... Whatever. Maybe they were omniscient or something.

"I'm with him." Oh.

"Can you help him?" I pleaded.

"Not fully," they replied bluntly.

"Can you help me?"

"Yes. But who would you rather have me assist? You, or this Roach?"

"Roach!" I replied fervently. He was in critical condition. I would be alright.

"Not for long. My window to save you is closing quickly. Two nights at most," the voice replied. That wasn't exactly the response I was looking for, but it was still nice to know, right?

"Just take him and come back for me later!" I insisted. Roach was a good man. Me? Not so much.

"If you wish," they concluded.

I assumed they left, , feeling an absence in the air. The white began to fade from my eyes, replaced by a light blue. The sky? My chest rose. The fresh oxygen in my veins felt amazing. My skin began to tingle. Little pinpricks ran up and down my arms. Then, I could feel the heat. The intense heat, like I was being roasted alive.

Maybe I won't be fine.

* * *

Luna's POV

10 o'clock P.M.

Equestrian Gardens.

Celestia wasn't fully correct. I had found a noble human. Troubled, but noble.

As well as his... Friend, I thought. I glanced at the small, limp body on my back as I flew, shifting my wings awkwardly so he wouldn't fall off. This Roach (humans have an odd naming system-he looks nothing like an insect) needed immediate medical attention. The bandages I layered on wouldn't hold forever.

It would be much quicker to take him to the Royal Hospital but unfortunately, unicorns know nothing of the human anatomy (I myself know very little). Instead, I decided to fly him to Zecora's den in the Everfree. The zebra has an uncanny source of knowledge about otherworldly then again, she has explored other lands outside the Equestrian border. Including the Everfree Forest.

I glanced at the wild trees below. And to think that the Everfree was once my home, I reminiscenced. I liked the seclusion of the old palace. It was peaceful. The trees were thick, tall and vibrant. Exotic plants once grew in the garden. But during my exile, Celestia had abandoned the fortress and the fauna became unruly. It was needless to say that the cloud cover wasn't the only thing obscuring Zecora's home tonight.

I squinted hard at a small orange glimmer of light below me, and flew closer. I angled my wings to slowly descend to the canopy. The glow was a candle in the window of Zecora's hut. I ducked, avoiding the hooked branches, before landing softly. I was breathing hard. Carrying extra weight was exhausting.

"Zecora!" I called, knocking on her wooden door.

I saw a striped hoof open the door. Zecora stepped into full view. Her intelligent green eyes sparkled at me.

"Princess Luna, I see you are tired from enduring a long flight," She noted. "Tell me, what brings you here to my home on this warm summer night?"

I cautiously slid the human out from my wings. "He did."

Zecora's eyes widened. She was speechless.

"Can you help him?" I asked.

"Of course," Zecora answered abruptly. "But he is obviously not a horse."

"It's a bit obvious that he's not," I replied. "That's why I came to you."

She ushered us both inside. I ducked through the doorway, dragging this Roach inside. The strong scent of herbs overwhelmed me at first.

"Then you've traveled to the right place. It's been ages, but I know that creature's face," she admitted, clearing off a work table. I levitated him onto it before turning to Zecora.

I looked at her quizzically. "You've encountered humans?"

"I've explored their ruins from the days of old, and studied their scrolls since I was a foal," the zebra said as she stuffed her arms with herbs and bottles. "The closest I have seen of a live body were chalk white bones, those of a lost king on his empty throne."

"Medicinal scrolls, anatomy scrolls, history?" I asked. How much information did Zecora have about humans?

She nodded. "Limitless information I have kept. In the chest over there lies their wars, their scars, even the ways they have slept." Zecora gestured to an old dusty wooden chest while she prepared a poultice.

"Wars?" War, war, war. How violent were they, really?

Zecora delicately removed the bandages around his abdomen to assess the damage. "As often as a casual game of chess. Now Princess, please assist me and use your hooves to press."

I trotted over quickly to put pressure on the wound. It looked like a small horn had stabbed directly through his body, leaving an exit wound. I'd dealt with penetration injuries like these before in jousting stallions. Some foal brained colt thought he could try a round without proper armor...

The human's chest rose weakly as I propped his legs up on a vase, elevating the wound. It was a small relief.

"Signs of life he is showing," Zecora reported. "For his pulse is flowing."

"The bleeding has stopped," I said, looking to Zecora and still keeping two hooves on.

She sprinkled small, violet blossoms into the bandages before wrapping several white layers around his abdomen. "Good. Now these herbs will do the job they should."

"What do they do?" I said, curious. I'm not a herb master.

"Their job is to provide a seal, so that way the skin will heal," Zecora mused.

I looked at his awfully charred skin. He was covered in second degree burns.

The zebra sensed my distress. "Princess Luna, his skin will soom revitalize. It will not be the cause of his demise."

"Some salve would do good, right?" I pushed. The human named Ghost was an ally that I needed. If I completely nursed Roach, he might side with me.

Zecora thought it over. "It is worth a try. Although my reserves may be dry."

She searched in her cabinets, and pulled out a clear jar full of an amber liquid, a bundle of herbs, an odd looking cactus, and a jar full of maggots. My insides churned as I watched their fat white bodies squirm and writhe.

"Do not worry, Princess. The removal of dead skin is the role of these insects," Zecora reassured me before stepping outside. I observed her from the window. She was peeling the bark off of a willow tree. I looked back to the table and sniffed the herbs.

"Burdock," I thought aloud. Then I examined the cactus like plant, and chewed the tip of a jagged triangular leaf. Bittersweet slime filled the inside. "Aloe."

Zecora came back inside, and set the bag of bark shavings on the work table. She then lit a fire underneath the large cauldron pot in the center of the floor. I got the notion of what Zecora was doing, and used my magic to fill it with water to the halfway mark. It began to boil steadily before she threw the shavings in.

"Tea?" I guessed.

"Close," Zecora answered, stirring occasionally with a wooden spoon. "In time you will see the magic of this remedy." She pulled the spoon out, and passed it to me. I watched the pot as she attended to Roach, glimpsing out of the corner of my eye every so often.

Watching Zecora work was very interesting. She wiped her hooves with a cloth before cutting into an aloe leaf. Thick clear goo ran out of the green skin, and she drained the liquid into an empty clay cup. Zecora then pried the leaf open, and carved out the transparent flesh. Zecora then kneaded all the juice out with a pestle, and poured that into the cup. She then slowly poured the thick sap on Roach's burnt complexion. The viscous, transparent syrup covered most of the human's exposed skin when Zecora was done. Roach subconsciously groaned as the zebra rubbed some of the amber salve on his boils.

"He'll be stirring soon," Zecora murmured. "His wounds will heal over the course of many moons."

I couldn't wait. He was okay! But there's still a few unanswered questions I had.

"Zecora, what's the chance of his name being Roach?" I asked honestly.

"Slim," She answered as I stirred the pot. "He looks more like a Jim."

I think she was joking.

"Zecora, may Roach stay with you until he recovers fully?" I asked. "Or just until I get back? I have more on my agenda to accomplish."

She nodded. "He may stay and receive a long rest. It's not like the human has any other place to nest."

"Thank you," I said, stepping out of the doorway. The next person was the man in the strange forest. He was running out of time. "I promise I'll be back soon."

I gave myself a running start to clear the canopy, taking quick and careful wing beats to avoid the branches. Eventually, I could see the moon in the sky before slipping once more into Limbo.


	4. The British Are Coming

(A/N: It is said that Christ himself was held in Hell for three days for Satan to try His purity against a court of demons. He was freed, deemed worthy of grace. Are you?

-The Onyx Dragon)

* * *

"Lately I've been hard to reach.

I've been too long on my own.

Everybody has a private world

Where they can be alone.

Are you calling me?

Are you trying to get through?

Are you reaching out for me?"

-Eminem, "Beautiful"

* * *

Gideon's POV

Time: Exo Malfunction. N/A

Location: N/A. Last known location: New Eastern State Peninentary, Detroit.

If I was bit, I would just end myself with a bullet. Simple. Out of all my capabilities, I could certainly commit suicide. At the end of the day, the only subject of importance were those men in the chopper. If they could do the impossible, my death wouldn't matter.

I had no more time to divulge deeper into the thought of my infection probability. I had OTHER problems to worry about, mostly the zombie that I had elbowed and broke the neck of, yet was still crawling toward me. Its head swayed, yet it still pulled on, slow and determined.

_If_ _Kovac had that, then maybe he wouldn't have such a low score at the range_, I mused before pulling my suppressed .45 off out of the holster. I cocked the hammer before filling the wretch with a ball of lead, then checked my left arm.

I sighed. Relief flooded through me. It was merely the metal forebar that had ripped. The Kevlar mesh underguard wasn't even scratched. I bathed in my elation before checking over my shoulder. I had to constantly watch my six, just in case. Thankfully, the rest of those things were still on the other side of the 50 ft. fence, transfixed at the bright flares. God, there had to be at least one hundred of them!

"I don't have enough bullets for a job like that," I muttered, sliding off of the side of the old garage I had landed on. My feet hit the concrete roughly, but the exo absorbed most of the shock. I stood up straight, and surveyed the Renaissance City.

I remember flying here once, staying a week for a Red Wings game in my college days. I liked the determined mood the city had, even though half the city was abandoned and crumbling in places. And even then, I liked the crumbly bits as well. I once stayed all night in the abandoned Central Station alone for a dare, splitting the best vendor hot dog ever with a homeless man who wanted to stay warm for the night.

But the present Detroit was a stark contrast with its former self. Irons came in about a decade ago, and tried to renovate the place. He remade the metro system, and transformed some of the old factories. It worked for a little bit as his exo manufacturing source, until Hades started attacking. Everyone closed up shop and evacuated soon after. It left the place completely gutted.

I continued to walk down the deserted streets, soaking in the enviornment. Trash rolled out from tilted cans across the pedestrian crossings when the wind blew. Store windows were covered with thick coats of grime. Somehow, a stop sign was bend comically, giving the impression that a car had hastily plowed into it.

Three empty streets later, I stopped in front of a dilapidated sandwich joint, desiring a small rest. The shop window brandished _"NOTHING STOPS DETROIT"_ in flickering neon letters, one of the few sources of light left. I chuckled to myself, considering the circumstances, and stepped inside. The interior was very retro. Torn red leather adorned the seats, faded posters of 1950's beauties were displayed in black frames on the wall, while the bar counters were a (dusty) baby blue. Crumbling black and white tile crunched under my combat boots.I scanned the place for anything that could serve as a barricade, just in case the flare lost its charm and the zombies wanted a bite to eat. My eyes landed on the massive steel freezer on the right of the bar near a broken jukebox.

It would have to do, I figured before striding quickly behind the counters. It took little strength and time to open the door. It wasn't very heavy, but it was thickly insulated. The first thing I noticed when I stepped inside was that the air was lukewarm, meaning that the power was off, or at a miniscule level. The next was the storage racks on the wall. I dragged them to the door, using them as a barricade.

"With those up against the door, it gives the room a little more open space," I voiced out loud, glancing around. I wasn't trying to be heard. But only expressing my thoughts internally could drive me insane.

I sat down in an empty corner, putting my head in my hands. The silence had begun to gnaw at me only a few minutes later. Or maybe I was hungry.

"It's probably both," I muttered out loud. "But I can manage. It's not the first night I've missed a ration."

Night. All I had to do was last through the night. It was an achievable goal.

"Sleep in shifts," I reminded myself, staring at the ceiling until my eyes burned.

Moments before my mind slipped into unconsciousness, I could have sworn I heard someone singing softly. I comprehended one line before nodding off.

"I'm reaching out for you."


	5. Rorke Is A Douchenozzle

(A/N: Warning [Advertissement, Achtung, Advertencia, etc.]: Contains graphic depiction of cruel and unusual torture because I'm a sick twisted soul that knows what Logan probably went through. [And if this didn't happen, kudos to Logan. I'm putting him through a lot.]

To recap, don't sue me.

-The Onyx Dragon)

* * *

"The healthy man does not torture others - generally it is the tortured who turn into torturers."

-Carl Jung

* * *

Logan's POV

Don't know anymore...

Lost...

Rorke did this. The cuts, the scars, the bruises, the rope burns, the stitches... Belong to him. This isn't my body anymore. Every time I twitch in shock, he drinks in the pain. It's his. He can keep it. He can have my corpse. Nevertheless, some desperate part of me fights anyway but I know it's futile. All it would do is chafe my wrists further, and I can't afford to lose more blood. It would just make the knife wound worse.

Anemia grips my body. I shiver, and whisper a plea to God. Then I close my eyes. All I can see is how I ended up here in this nightmare.

* * *

Luna's POV

Ever Eternal Night

Limbo, En Route

I was fretting. How quickly his pulse fades! I must save him in time! But how? How do I slow his vitals and send him into a more relaxed state?

I scoured my mind for a solution to prevent his demise, and came to one solution. A coma. I had to lay him in a revitalizing coma.

Just like Celestia could use the power of the sun to heal, I could do the same with sleep. He would lay still, almost dead. But in truth, he would be in a trance-induced hibernation. His dreams will sustain him.

Logan. That is his name. Logan Walker.

Logan, I am coming. Please be alive.

* * *

Logan's POV

Rorke was the one who made me speak the most since Mom died. Granted, it's nothing too elaborate. "Burn in Hell, Gabriel."

Rorke laughed, thick and gritty. I hated it. I hated him. No, I didn't just hate him. I loathed him. I wanted to kill him. For Dad, for Ajax, for Hesh. Especially for Hesh. If he killed my brother...

I ripped myself out of my thoughts, and flinch at Rorke rubbing his hand across my neck. Everything about him was revolting. The obsessed look in his eyes, the subtle praises he gave, the fact that he chose ME. But for what?! That was the worst. What the hell did he want!?

The Ghost hunted circled me again, and I stared right back into his eyes from my chair. "Go away, Rorke."

"Not until you break," he breathed down my neck, kneeling too close to me. I can taste his breath.

"Not going to happen," I said, awkwardly refusing to look at him.

"You got fire in you, kid," Rorke told me for the umpteenth time. "You fought against the hallucination serum well. But it's just the first part."

I blinked for a fraction of a minute. Dad's dull dead eyes stared out of the darkness. My conscious didn't leave that battle unscathed. I flinched, and glared at Rorke. "And?"

"And?" Rorke mimicked me. "And there's more! The fun is only starting, Logan." The man motioned too eagerly to the Federation guards working in tandem near the door. "Transportar el prisionero a la cámara de tortura inundado."

"Si, senor," the duo answered before picking up the chair I was on. I craned my neck to observe my surroundings, trying in vain to get a feel for an escape route. Rorke restrained me too well. All I could see was the ceiling above me, and Rorke filling behind us, watching me cynically.

I sat back in the chair, and tried to do something useful by using another sense, my ears. Judging from the light clicking sound, I'd say that we were still on tile. The lighting changed and I could see iron bars in the ceiling; small little openings to a huge, expanding green canopy.

Squelch. Squelch. Their boots were on mud now. I heard a door creak open, and the sound of pouring water came from below me.

"Aqui," Rorke barked in Spanish. His henchmen threw me face down into the water, about 2 ft deep. I held my breath, and struggled against the bonds. My lungs burned, prickling. Right before I was about to suck in water, Rorke yanked me up so I could breathe.

I gasped for air, and trembled like a wet dog. The Ghost hunter eyed me for a bit as the guards left us. Alone.

"What?" I choked, glaring. My hair blocked my eyes.

"You'll have a fun time trying to survive the night," He said nonchalantly before dragging me toward the wall covered in vines.

It felt like I was on higher, sandy ground from the way the chair tilted. Now that I was upright, I could see better. This room had metal bars for a roof, and half of it was partially flooded. I wouldn't even call it a room, really. More like a subterranean pit with a metal door opening to the inside of it.

"Like what you see?" Rorke chuckled.

I glared at him. "If you're talking about the room, absolutely."

"In that case I think you're going to enjoy this, kid." Rorke set down the bag on his shoulder, and pulled out a knife.

He lashed at my torso, ripping my skin and shirt. I ignored the sharp heat in my chest, clenching my jaw. Rorke paused before lashing at me again, leaving deeper cuts. It was a pattern. Pause, lacerate, pause, lacerate. I screamed when he grazed my lip. My nerves were on fire!

"Do you like the taste of your own blood, Logan?" He whispered in my ear. "Because that's all you're going to get when you stand next to Hesh. A brother that just sat still when I dragged you away..."

"Leave Hesh out of this! You really think that's going to get to me!? The only one who I have beef with is you, Rorke. Get that into the half of a brain inside of your head!" I spat. So that's the angle he's trying to play. Well it's not gonna work!

Said man began to pace back and fourth around my chair. "Oh, someone's the linguist today. By the way, you're not fooling anyone. We all know Hesh is your soft spot. Hell, the entire Federation knows that you're the last Walker left by now. Your entire family met a sour demise. And so will you, Logan."

Rorke had no filter. I could BARELY tolerate the fact that he brought up Mom and Dad, but he better be lying about Hesh! Or I'll burn the Federation and the entire Amazon rainforest into a crisp! And then when he has no one to back his ass, I will shoot him in the head with a pistol just like he did to my dad RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME!

"You're bluffing!" I accused, blinking the red out of my eyes. He's a liar, and a tormentor. Keegan has Hesh. He has to.

"I'm afraid we'll have to wait and see." Rorke pulled out a lemon, and cut it in half with the knife stained in my blood. He popped one slice into his mouth, and held the other in his hand. Arrogant bastard. I haven't eaten in days. "Hesh is dead. Eventually you'll believe me."

Hesh is not dead! He can't be! Rorke is lying!

"You're terrified," The Ghost observed. "Do you see how wide your eyes are? You're a deer in the headlights. And I told you that Hesh was your soft spot."

"So why do you keep rubbing it in!? If you know sooooo much why don't you put it to use?! Do something that actually affects me!" I challenged.

"Okay." Rorke squeezed the other lemon half into a pulp, soaking fresh juice into my knife wounds.

"You sadistic fuck!" I screamed. It stung so much! My chest was drenched in acidic poison.

"A man with 'half of a brain inside of his head' wouldn't do that!" He seethed. "Wouldn't leave you in the Pit to rot overnight! Wouldn't put up with your ass so you could tear the Ghosts apart from the inside!"

He blinked, and I almost thought he cooled off a bit. But no, his eyes opened as black as his heart. "Well what do you know, Logan? That determination actually got somewhere. I'll give you credit. Right before I rip it out of you."

Rorke grabbed my collar, and pulled me towards his chest. The movement strained my tense muscles.

I tried to laugh at him, and fight the fear building in my gut. "Not on the first date, Gabriel."

"Aw, but I thought we were already at second base!" He mock-whined. "I got you a gift and everything!"

Rorke let go of my collar, and I slumped back into my chair. He rummaged around in the camel bag on the ground, and pulled out a condom.

All the bells, whistles and blaring alarms went off in the back of my head. What!? Just what!? Is that what he wanted!? Is he serious?

"Say hello to my little friend."

I looked down, not at all expecting to see a living, slithering brown snake in Rorke's hands. He snickered, and put the condom back in his pocket.

"Sorry, Logan. That's not for you. Your face was priceless, though," he chuckled faintly before slowly lifting his arm. Black reptilian eyes met mine, and a dark tongue flickered out of a scaly mouth.

"This here is Indie," Rorke introduced. "Isn't she beautiful? Don't you like her gold underbelly? Or her black tongue? She's a taipan. I picked her up in Australia."He laid her on my thighs. My self awareness multiplied my ten, and every inch of bare skin on my body crawled. What if she bit me? I've got nothing to protect from her fangs.

The snake hissed angrily, and bile started to build up in my throat.

"You're lucky that she's just an inland taipan," Rorke continues. "It takes her awhile to bite. But when she does just know that one drop can kill a hundred men, and she's a quick lady."

He let that set in before drawling on. "So let's play this waiting game, Logan. Let's see how long you can last. But I'm not really a patient person. I've got one last little guest for you right now."

I didn't watch when Rorke pulled out one more box. I was too busy concentrating on the highly poisonous snake right next door to my most important internal organs.

Stop it. Stop. Thinking. About. The. Snake, I pleaded with myself.

"Look at me Logan," Rorke ordered.

I stared at him immediately. Anything was better than noticing how Indie was slithering across my torso, and brushing my neck with her tongue.

"Remember this little guy?" Rorke held up a familliar arachnid. A camel spider.

I jumped back, beginning to hyperventilate. The last time I had seen it was in Afghanistan during the riot controls. One almost ate Hesh's arm, and I woke up with another on my face.

Rorke dropped the sandy colored menace, and it scurried quickly into a leafy corner. It was still visible.

"Oh, so you've heard of the camel spider? Elias told me about how Hesh almost died from one, and it gave you a panic attack. Remember that, Logan? Now that I think about it, maybe I should have brought your brother. Got inside of him like I want to get inside of you, just to break you even further..." The Ghost hunter contemplated.

"Fuck you Rorke!" I hissed.

Rorke stood up, and walked to the door. He looked over his shoulder. "Remember that when you try not to drown, in the meantime. It is the Amazon rainforest, after all. Oh, and good luck with the night, Logan. I'll be back at twelve."

He nearly stepped out of the room. But instead of sealing the door, a knife impaled itself in my shoulder. Rorke ignored my curses and shut the door.

Indie hissed in my ear, and I winced.

"Wake up," she whispered.


	6. Dear Guest

Don't read this if you don't like cussing. I respect all of my readers so I decided to at least give a warning first.

I really got nothing as far as plot to write at the moment. I got something to rant about.

* * *

To "Dear Author": Whoever the Hell you are, how about you go consider how your words may affect another person?

You do not KNOW me personally. I get that. But to a person who actually deals with suicide and has friends who have killed themselves, what you wrote there in the reviews is not funny and I hope for the sake of God and all things holy that you didn't write it as a joke.

I can understand the fact that you might not like the fact that I'm a Brony. And I'm cool with that. Stereotype me however you wish.

I can understand the fact that you might not like the fact that I'm a COD player. And I get that too. Go ahead. Tell me in the reviews what you think about me. I'll even tell you what is true and what isn't.

But what I don't get is why you would tell someone you don't even know to go and hang themselves. On this story, of all things.

You think this is just some random clop-fic? No. I write to show a person my own biases and morality through characters that I know and love. I write with a plan, small and large.

The plan for this story is that I would show the readers a pony named Desert Storm. As a soldier, he would work in fighting the pony slave trade in Equestria and that a war between two races is superfluous. By writing this, I would convey that selling and purchasing anything with a story and a soul was wrong. Ponies and people are NOT property. They are born with free will and have the right to express it. I would also show them Simon "Ghost" Riley and convey that no matter what you did in the past, you can still be beautiful in someone else's eyes. And with Gideon I would show that no matter how different you are, you will never be alone and that if you are willing to have someone's back they will get yours. Always.

To fully answer your review, no. I will not hang myself.

I will lead by example. I won't even bother to erase what you said but keep it as a memento of resilience instead.

Maybe in the deepest depths of your insecurity, you'll realize that the only way to repair your own soul is to construct it instead of destroying others.

Also, I gotta applaud you. You're my first flamer. I'm finally doing something right.

* * *

_"You will face your greatest opposition when you are closest to your biggest miracle." _

_― Shannon L. Alder_


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